High speed **** generation
warped minds
strong hands
unreality stimulating, simulating
digital lights flickering
images of *******
endless variety of every kind
on demand
what has become of us
what has become of touching, romance
creepy accusations because genuine human interaction is going the way of the dodo,
Oh, he didn't follow the smooth script, no chance man
Maybe your testosterone was spent elsewhere and your vibes told the true true
either way no *** for you
the youth exploited and exploiting, insane cycles
the itch, the tingle, the curiosity, the drive for more, dopamine release
My generation had the first ******* access
point and click
no barriers can stop that drive, rooted in youthful pubescent longing
we're sick
on the digital drug

Touch me instead
bath me in your ***
not this crude moving picture
Let me drink you, taste your juice, feel you slide,
touch the walls of your world, explode them,
show the limitless illusion to boundaries, kink, *******,
stop watching, live it
chronic ******* robs us of the real intimacy,
don't drain your desire for me with this crude digital *******,
just because its there
You can touch me, not your keyboard, not this plastic and metal
I suppose you can touch yourself,
but have the imagination to fantasize
and then make it real
share your life force with a human being,
not some rag to be thrown away
Rise to your lust, conquer the animal
make its power serve
make love,
not digital mental war

Our days are droplets of rain in a spring storm,
plentiful but falling so fast,
whooshing past us like cars on a freeway,
soaking the world in our life.

Let me touch you with quiet confidence,
or if you prefer overt splendor,
tell me whatever manner you please,
my knowing hands shall deliver your pleasure,
lion eyes bathe you in a glowing gaze,
exchanging mischievous looks as grown children wandering the wood carrying forth only their awe,
feeling the same childlike wonderment
exploring the curvature of your figure,
perfectly shaped mounds resplendently formed
with the subtle touch of a zen master,
drawing circles in his sand garden,
your hips full as the sun's light
reflected orange in the late winter clouds expanse

Light a candle,
let me chase you like the moon
following the morning star across the sky,
our passions shall collide melting into a singular heavenly body, encapsulating both night and day,
the eternal quest for succor delivered
as a gift to be unwrapped under the tree,
give yourself to me, body and soul,
and to this human beat
a sugary sweet song will come forth from the depths of our ***** *****, run with me then through the wet grass lining the beach,
when we meet in the light,
we say nothing,
the waves will only whisper,
stroking your hair,
it flows as a silky onyx river from a diamond spool,
down the small of your back,
where my breath is lost
and my desire found,
in that nook making my home,
play with me there,
tracing lines

We’re all looking to do something real
And the words, you’ve got time
Are the biggest lie ever uttered out of the human mouth
What that really means is that we don’t know what to tell you, we can’t, first of all, the realness is too personal, everyone has their own version of what is real, time and space are relative to the observer after all, Einstein proved that, but only if all natural laws hold constant, and theoretically those probably break down somewhere after the age of 22,
No, you haven’t got time, time is an illusion, just like the trophy award ceremony where everyone wins and gets patted on the back for trying,
No, stop telling us we’ve got time, we’ve got time to flail in the wind, we’ve got time to do work, but finding the realness is beyond time, it’s the kernel stuck in the teeth of our soul, we need to water this kernel, and philosophically, everything we do may be watering this kernel, but in practicality, it feels like we’ve been going nowhere with all this time we’ve got, stop telling us we’ve got time and tell us to travel, to explore, to roam and push our consciousness to the brinks of the universe, tell us to be unafraid, not of the fact that there is still this thing called time ticking away minutes before we die, but tell us to be unafraid of what we might find when we come face to face with the realness, tell us to be uncompromising in our search, tell us to stay away from any who would tie us to the ground and care about anything other than the realness
Because we’ve all got time, until we don’t, then what are you going to say to reassure the disaffected grown youth? Sorry, but you had time, and now you don’t, we can’t coddle you anymore with stories about time and how not to worry about it, time to join the ranks of the real world. Make some money, stop wasting time.

A girl named Karma met me on the road
She said, open your eyes when you’re through

Now burnt sage may erase a lover’s rage
And a pretty girl's face may seal your fate
One way or maybe two

We plucked flowers from her life like memories laid upon an open casket
Lowering ourselves into the ground, deep,
like a purple hue hanging on a spring time skyline
Now, I’m not sure why life lives on the edge of death
nor the reason why young people die
I suppose it’s just the way of things,
and that can only ever be the logical explanation for anything occurring here or anywhere,
physical beauty fades just as a sunset, and even if you capture a picture, nothing can replace that feeling of being there, standing,
baring witness to the all encompassing fruit of the immaculate conception permeating all existence,
like a deaf child struck dumb hearing his first sound
or feeling the wetness of rain
and smelling the earth after its fall,  
I am

Now Karma, she said something so interesting to me
She said, you may not be here tomorrow
That’s the way it goes I suppose
One moment you’re here, and then you’re gone
Its all a surprise, even to the dying, but of course we’re all dying,
just some of us live along the way,
young death be a thief of sorts,
stealing into your home in the dead of night,
taking you abruptly like a dark epiphany,
robbing vitality, corrupting the seasons,
injecting nonsense into the blood stream of our way of things,
yet nothing he takes he wouldn’t get
So I ask you
How many nights will you sit beside a fire
feeling a part of the realness surrounding you?
When that crooked deal passes your way, and its time to count the chips, cashing in, will you be able to smile at the dealer and say thanks,
your tires swerving into a dusty stop like a heaven bound jalopy
come crushing through the gates,
leaping four steps at a time

Now people talk about what isn’t fair, but there is no such thing as fair
Just like some days it rains and some days it snows
Some days it’s cold and some days you can lay in the sun,
we learn to live in the weather
And some of us talk about it
and most of us drink water
These seem to be the way of things.
The paradoxical nature of the observer unable to comprehend infinite scale, yet still experiencing it.  
We are names made of stars existing on a grain of sand,
our universe a droplet of rain in a spring storm,
yet boundless as an archer firing an arrow that never lands,
everything a larger version of something small,
everything a smaller version of something large

Within this paradox exists a search for meaning,
we all long to do things that speak for themselves,
the value being intrinsic,
like deeds of gold,
but after the funeral we realize the power of the word.
We promise every year to have a living funeral,
and be speakers for the dead,
detailing the reasons why we had love.

Now, I'm not sure what I like more
the taste of candy sweet or the view
but from her mouth I heard the sound
Don't do to me as I have done to you
So from this place I took a page
from the sinners oath of truth
kneeling down before barbed crown
feeling the subtle point slice through
Knowing what is said and done
will certainly cycle back to you

The vampire is at the door
The wolf is in the yard
The ghost is in the house
The lunatic is baying at the moon
The siren is off the shore
The serpent is in the grass
The pain is in the heart
The killer is in you.

Black pain comes with the rain
Rain bouncing hard
Covering the yard with chronic drops
Unhappiness, an empty black hole
Threatening to collapse inside itself
Into nothingness.